Usurper
by WrenClayton
Summary: Everything was going fine for the Boy King of Hell, until the Queen of Hell took issue with his claim to the throne. Warnings: Violence (in the context of fighting), blood, dom/sub, trash talk, light breath play, forced submission.


Sam had never seen her before, this woman standing between the pews of the church. She had full scarlet lips that rivaled the blood on the floor, neatly pinned up auburn hair, and poise that made even Sam's own inflated confidence waver for a moment. But even though he'd never laid his ink-black eyes on her body, he could feel the imprint of her in the air, like the blast preceding an explosion. And the Boy King of Hell knew he was facing down a Knight.

Sam let the dismembered leg in his hand fall to the floor, where it joined a gruesome pattern of other body parts scattered across the floor of the church. He raised his hand and slowly wiped the blood off his mouth, not taking his eyes off the woman before him. Trouble rolled off her in waves, like heat. And here he was having such a nice night out.

The woman — the Knight — looked him over with piercing eyes before cutting the dead air of the church with a voice like steel.

"Step down, Sam."

Sam's mouth twitched in a smirk. He spread his arms, gesturing at the carnage around him. "Step down from the altar?"

"Step down from your throne." The woman gave him a little smile, the kind a teacher gives a misbehaving student. "It's not yours."

"Oh?" Sam flexed his hands eagerly. "And who's to say it's not?"

"The Queen says its not," she replied evenly. Her leather boots made soft, wet noises as she walked over the blood-soaked carpet towards him. "Now stand down, Sam. I won't give you another chance."

Sam's lip twitched. "Not a very respectful thing to say to your King."

"King." She said the word with a little laugh, a sweet flash of white teeth and mirth in her eyes. It would have been beautiful if it weren't for the hum of evil in the air around her. "You're a _boy_. The kids on the playground called you nice names and now you think you run Hell." This woman — this cocky, _disrespectful_ woman — took her leather jacket in her hands and slowly pulled it off her pale, smooth shoulders. She tossed the jacket aside, and it landed on a corpse. "But don't worry. You can still be useful to me. I like a man with a taste for death."

Sam cocked his head to the side, sneering. "Oh, I'm going to lock you in your vessel for what I do to you," he promised.

This time the woman smiled, raising a hand with fingers ready to snap. "Catch me first."

* * *

The broken ribs he could have handled. They'd be a bitch to stitch up later, not to mention the lung they'd punctured, but Sam would have been fine given time. But when Sam's leg broke as he was flung over the marble altar, a clean snap of bone, the fight was over for him. The two chunks of femur wouldn't line up, and his leg kept giving out, bringing him tumbling to the floor when he needed to stand. He was leaning against one of the broken pews now, panting, holding a bloody hand up and focusing all of his force on holding his enemy in place.

"Give up, Sam. Bow to your Queen."

"Never," Sam ground out. He could taste blood on his own words, and knew that for once the blood was his. The broken bone slipped inside his leg suddenly, and his focus broke as he fell to the floor. The next thing he knew there was a powerful hand tangling in his long hair, holding it roughly, painfully, and he was looking up a curvy, blood-soaked body at a sweet, scarlet smile.

"Not quite a bow. But I'll take it."

Sam was out of breath and out of strength. He snarled at the woman when she tugged his hair roughly.

"I am no longer your Knight," she informed him as he cringed. "I am Abaddon, Queen of Hell, and if you kneel you may serve me."

"Fuck you," he bit out.

"Disrespectful. But a good suggestion."

The usurper yanked Sam to his feet, and he clenched his teeth on a scream. His leg was limp, and it was only her grip on his hair that held him up. Abaddon grabbed his belt and yanked it open, and Sam's heart almost stopped.

"Lucky for you, I know just the way to re-train a naughty puppy… "

Abaddon ripped the belt out of Sam's pants in one violent motion, snapping it in the air. Sam grabbed the broken pew behind him, arms shaking as they tried to support him. He was breathing hard. He couldn't take his eyes off the sight of Abaddon's carefully manicured hands adjusting the belt, folding it into a loop and gripping it tightly. She pressed the loop under his chin, scraping it over the blood and stubble, lifting his face.

"You'll make a _marvelous_ toy, Sam. My own private one."

Abaddon shoved him backwards and Sam toppled onto the pew, cringing as the impact jostled his broken ribs. He panted up at the demon as she climbed onto the pew, straddling him, a calm smile on her beautiful face. There was a splatter of dark blood staining the pale curve of her neck where Sam had managed to wound her. The sight was gorgeous, tantalizing.

Abaddon trailed the loop of the belt down Sam's heaving chest, letting the leather trace the contours of his muscles. She tickled her scarlet nails down his vulnerable throat, then grabbed the hem of his shirt and _ripped _it open. Sam's breath hitched, and his body betrayed him with a little buck of his hips.

"Oh, you're going to be a fast learner, Sam. I can tell."

Sam's lip curled defiantly. Abaddon slapped the belt loop lightly against his cheek.

"None of that, now, puppy. Behave for your Queen."

Sam bared his teeth, and the belt slapped his cheek again, _harder_.

"Say, 'yes, m'lady.'"

"Fuck you," Sam drawled.

Two crimson nails raked from Sam's collarbone to his nipple, leaving sore red lines. The fingers locked over his nipple and _twisted, _and Sam bit his lip on a hiss of pleasure and pain.

"Again, Sam."

"F-fuck you!"

Abaddon wound the belt around Sam's throat while she pinched and squeezed his nipple, listening to him moan. Sam almost whimpered when she tugged on the makeshift collar, tightening it around his throat.

"Again."

Sam couldn't respond. His chest was lighting up with a sweet, burning sting as his nipple was brutally teased. Abaddon's hips ground slowly against him, the heat of her pressing against his erection. It was so sweet he could almost taste it in the air, the warmth and smell of her body.

"Again. Will you bow to your Queen?"

Sam gasped as she rocked her hips forward hard, promising heat grinding down his erection. "Y-yes, m'lady," he panted.

"So much better, Sam."

The fingers released Sam's nipple, leaving it sore and pink. Abaddon crawled up Sam's body until she was straddling his face, grabbing his hair roughly. Sam's eyes went hazy when she buried his face between her legs, pressing his mouth against the heat and the amazing scent seeping through the tight fabric.

"Will you be a good boy, Sam?"

Sam tried to choke out a "yes, m'lady" as Abaddon ground down against him.


End file.
